


that was the last time you ever saw me

by ladyinprocessing



Category: Victorious (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arson, F/M, neither of them are very smart in this and that's how it should be, possibly canon compliant, post-episode: s4 e13 victori-yes, rip beck you didn't deserve this, technically post-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyinprocessing/pseuds/ladyinprocessing
Summary: beck and jade commit arson
Relationships: Beck Oliver/Jade West
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5
Collections: Commiting a Crime





	that was the last time you ever saw me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much to everyone else who participated this month! Next month's prompt will be "Song" and details can be found on my Twitter (@arsonfirby) tomorrow!

Jade West’s first appearance on television is not supposed to be on a Mexican children’s television show as the role of ‘Cheese Girl #3’. She’d pictured a three-episode love interest in a teen drama or a colleague’s daughter in a dying sitcom. Something respectable. But she won’t even get credit for running around, getting chased by children dressed as mice, wielding comically large forks. All that and no credit. Or paycheque. She was going to kill Trina Vega.

The director yells cut, and she leaves without permission despite attendants yelling after her to change first, and Tori asking to get a picture before they have to go. Jade can change in the car. It’s not like they’ll need the costume again. She just can’t bear to be in the building any longer. It’s a wonder she’s made it this far. And Tori and Trina can make their own way home. They can stay on the studio lot overnight for all Jade cares. As long as they both stay as far away from her as humanly possible, she sincerely doesn’t care what they do.

Jade’s car is on the far end of the parking lot, which is relatively empty. It doesn’t seem that many people work at the studio, judging by how small it is and the kind of content they create. Most people don’t want to be involved in children’s television that entails thirteen seasons of children dressed as animals just _running around_.

She climbs into the back seat and changes from her costume. And waits there for a moment. She cannot believe she just did that. That she let Tori Vega rope her into doing that. Even with the stupid _say yes to everything_ thing, she should have said no. Her reputation as an actress is not worth sticking to a challenge set by her high school improv teacher. She cannot, and will not, allow the first item on her Filmography on her future Wikipedia page be _“Divertisimo; Episode ‘Queso Guapo’; Uncredited_. She shouldn’t have allowed to be even a possibility.

Into the driver’s seat. She has an idea and he isn’t going to like it. He doesn’t like many of her ideas. They’re always too dangerous of impulsive or just plain evil. But, today, he has to say yes to everything. Including her terrible ideas. So, she calls him. Three rings.

“It isn’t midnight,” she says, pulling out of her parking spot. Her phone lies upside down in the cupholder and the microphone crackles when he sighs. A huff of breath that tells her he already knows she has a terrible idea and he’s hoping that she wouldn’t remember to call him on time. And she didn’t say hello. This, for some reason, annoys Beck to no end. So, she hasn’t begun a phone call with the word since he told her how grating it is. “You still have to say yes to everything I say.”

“Anything that isn’t kissing or illegal,” Beck corrects with a laugh. He’s trying to distract her, but it isn’t going to work. They are going too carry out her terrible idea whether he likes it or not. “But I would never say no to kissing you.”

Jade rolls her eyes, not even consciously. He’s being eyeroll-inducing on purpose. Now is not the time to sweet-talk her. They have things to do. “Cute.” She puts his address into the GPS because she has no idea where she is. _Divertisimo_ films in the middle of nowhere and it took Tori and her nearly two hours to get here from her house. “And it’s nothing illegal, don’t worry.” She scoffs as if the notion she’d want to do something illegal is positively preposterous. As though her committing a felony isn’t the most obvious outcome of the challenge. But he’s right. He doesn’t have to know that yet. “I wouldn’t ask you to kiss me. Gross. I just want to go on a drive.” She taps her pads of her fingers on the steering wheel. This isn’t going to work. He isn’t going to believe her, and the episode will air. And everyone in Mexico or watches the Spanish Language Channel will see her dressed as Lady Cheese Boob, being chased by mice children.

“You want to go on a drive at 10:30 on a Wednesday? Curfew is in half an hour.”

She could reach through the phone and shake him. “Shut up, Oliver.” The GPS finishes processing the address and tells her she’d seventy-five minutes away from his house. “I want to go on a drive at 11:45 on a Wednesday.”

Another huff of breath and a nod of agreement later, and step one of her plan is complete. Hang up.

* * *

Jade pulls up to the Olivers’ house at nineteen minutes until midnight, a whole four minutes ahead of schedule. And forty-one minutes after both their weekday curfew. She parks over the driveway and scrambles out of the car to get to the RV, and pull Beck out of it, before it’s too late. Before it’s past twelve and she can’t talk him into doing her bidding.

“Come on,” she says once she’s wrenched the RV door open and popped her head in. He’s sitting on the end of his bed, messing around on his laptop while he waits for her. Writing something, she thinks. She doesn’t ask because he always shows her when he’s finished, and she likes to go in knowing very little. Beck’s scripts are always better as surprises.

Beck follows Jade out without a word, turning the light off and locking the door behind him. Climbs into the passenger seat. Doesn’t ask questions because he never does. Watches her reverse the route on the GPS and the travel-time climb to an hour and fifteen minutes. And he says nothing. Ideal. She doesn’t want to have to explain.

They drive in silence for the first ten minutes. The radio hums, and the engine is making The Noise again, and sirens wail in the distance. Traffic is light. For LA’s standards, anyway. Beck sits with one foot on the chair, his chin on his knee. Flannel wrapped around his shoulder, scuffed boots dirtying the seat cover. Usually, he’s the one driving. Driving isn’t Jade’s forte, and his car – while older and without air conditioning – is much more comfortable. But she couldn’t ask him to drive a hundred miles away because she did something stupid. So, they have to get use to her inability to use her blinker and her road rage and her incompetence at reverse parking.

“Do you want to stop for something to eat?” he asks after they drive past their second McDonald’s and their first In-N-Out. There’s another coming up soon, and he knows that. It’s the one Robbie insists on going to because his cousin works there, and they get fifty cents off every order. “You look like you could use a milkshake.”

That would normally get Beck in trouble. But, he’s right. Jade is angry and a milkshake sounds nice. They stop at the next In-N-Out and he orders animal-style fries and she gets a vanilla shake. Despite her father’s strict instructions not to, they park in the back of the parking lot and eat in the car.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed off? And why we’re driving into the desert at midnight?”

Panicked, Jade glances towards the clock on the dashboard. 11:54. She has six minutes. She pretends to take a long sip to avoid answering the questions. If she explains what happened, he’ll laugh at her and tell her to take him home. There was no way in hell Beck would agree to her plan. Ever. He’s too rational and level-headed and boring to be on board with it. And then she shrugs, putting her cup in the holder in the centre console. Press the heel of her palm into the empty seatbelt buckle.

“ _Divertisimo_ is a shitty kids’ show and it airs on the Spanish Language Channel.” It seems like she’s changing the subject, and Beck opens his mouth to protest. He’s got sauce on his chin. She reaches forward and swipes it off with her thumb, wipes it on his leg. “Tori and I went to make fun of Trina when we found out – don’t look at me like that, you would have too! – and the producers roped us into being in it too because of Sikowitz’s stupid dare.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Eats a few undercooked, underbrowned fries. Furrows his eyebrows and stares through her. He can’t tell is he should be happy or annoyed for Jade.

The latter. Always the latter.

“How bad was it?”

“We were dressed as pieces of cheese.” She explains the plot of the episode, slightly exaggerating how mortifying it actually was. Doesn’t let on that the costume is in the backseat.

He stifles a laugh. She picks up her milkshake but doesn’t drink any. She crushes the straw with her back teeth instead. He covers his mouth with his right hand, drags it down over his chin, to hide his amusement, but she catches it anyway. Beck is the least subtle person Jade has ever met. Being _transparent_ does that to a person.

The fries are gone so she fastens her seatbelt again and leaves the parking lot.

“Okay. You’ve told me why you’re mad, now tell me where you’re taking me.”

She points at the GPS and their location of _FreeView Studio Lot_ just outside of Victorville. 11:59. She’s got him. He sinks in his chair.

* * *

Jade’s intention was to steal the episode and throw it in the ocean on the way home, but very quickly remembered that not only did studios stop storing media on tapes years ago, they were also heavily armed with security cameras. Security staff too, perhaps. But they were already halfway there. She couldn’t just turn around and go home. Show up on her father’s doorstep over an hour past curfew for nothing.

Beck started ignoring her when they left Los Angeles County. Angled his body towards the door, scrolling through his Slap timeline, listening to music through his earbuds. He agreed – despite Sikowitz’s exception of committing crimes – but he is not happy about it.

“I got a scholarship to UCLA, Jade. How am I supposed to go to college from prison?” he’d asked, rhetorically of course, when he’d realised what was happening. Raised his voice a little and waved his hands around for emphasis. She gave him a guilty look, slightly pouting her bottom lip and saddening her eyes. He sighed and softened and turned away from her.

She’d rather have gone to the drag race than end up in this mess. Sure, it’s incredibly boring and Jade hates it with every fibre of her being, but it beat Beck ignoring her on their way to do _something_ to a tiny little studio. What they were doing, she wasn’t sure. She had another thirty-three minutes. She’ll think of something.

* * *

Electrical fires often are caused by faulty electrical outlets and old, outdated appliances. Others are started by overloading fuses, usually in light fixtures. Usually occur in older buildings; built before building codes existed, and the electricals hadn’t been updated.

According to its Wikipedia page, FreeView Studio was built in 1929 as one of the first studios to film exclusively pictures with sound. In other words, it was old as hell. Chances are, there’s shoddy wiring somewhere in the building. Hopefully. Jade is counting on it.

She keeps a lighter (along with a bottle of water, Band Aids, three packs of gum and a handful of protein bars) in her purse at all times. This is plausible. The stupidest idea she’d ever had. But plausible. As long as she makes sure to only set the fire in one spot, that it only affected a small area and that they aren’t obvious about breaking into the place, they could maybe probably totally get away with it.

If Beck agrees to it. And he won’t. It’s after one o’clock. He has no obligation to agree to this, but he will. Because he is her boyfriend and he loves her. Would do anything for her. He said so the night they got back together. She really, really hopes that _anything_ includes arson.

“This is totally insane, and I get that. But, please, hear me out,” Jade says when they’re a mile out. Her skin is all gooseflesh and cold washes drip down her spine. Her teeth chatter. She darts her eyes in his direction and he moves from his curled position. Moves towards her. Looks at her for the first time in almost an hour. Nods. “We need to get rid of that episode. It can- _not_ air.”

“Get rid of it how?” He’s nervous. Scratches the back of his neck and lowers his foot to the ground again. He doesn’t want to do whatever it is she’s planning, and she can see that. But he’s going to do it anyway. Truly, she doesn’t deserve him.

She swallows hard and tries to find the most eloquent way to phrase this. _We torch the place_ is her first thought, but it’s all kinds of wrong. She doesn’t want to burn the building down; she just wants to ruin their footage. The word ‘fire’ also seems like a bit much. Like it adds weight to the action.

“We burn it?” It sounds more like a question than a statement because she still isn’t sure what she’s doing. She’d planned to come up with something on the way here, and she has nothing. Nothing substantial. When she doesn’t elaborate, Beck rolls his eyes and puts his head in his hands.

“Are you suggesting that we just wing it? That we’re just _winging_ a federal crime? Because we could go to prison for this, you know. Actual jail. And get like ten years for it.”

The gravity of what she wanted to do hadn’t hit her until now, and it bears down on her shoulders, crushing her. But they’ve come so far, they can’t just do nothing. Go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

“Please,” she says. So small and fractured and soft that it’s barely a word. Her throat is tight and behind her eyes burns and the car is suddenly getting unbearably hot.

“Can’t you just call them and ask to be taken out of the episode?”

“No. I signed a contract.”

The parking lot is fully empty this time. There’s no security at the gate or at the main entrance of the building from what Jade can see. Perfect. One less obstacle. The second Jade stops the car, Beck takes off his seatbelt and climbs out the passenger door. Slams it. Hard. Like he’s storming off, but towards what he should be running from. She clambers out after him, heart thudding in what feels like every inch of her body. Her skin pulses, adrenaline and fear and utter dread mixing with her blood and humming in her veins. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand to attention as though they could be of help.

She catches up to him in forty seconds. Beck stands at the glass double doors, pushing on them as though they’d ever be left unlocked overnight. Jade rolls her eyes at him and pulls a hair pin from her purse. She pulls off the rubber stopper at the end with her teeth, bends it, and carefully slots it into the lock. She presses her ear to the door and twists, waiting until she hears the five clicks of it unlocking.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?”

“Not important.”

They let themselves inside and Beck beelines for the elevator.

“Nope. We’re taking the stairs. Elevators have cameras.” Jade comes behind him and steers him towards the stairwell. The sign bolted to the wall tells them that the offices of the executives for _Divertisimo_ are on the fourth floor. They walk slowly upstairs in the dark. Hands gripped together, shoulders brushing. Halfway up the second flight, Beck turns on his camera flashlight. Neither of them speaks as they move upwards. There’s nothing to say. They don’t have a plan. They don’t know what they’re doing. Silence lets them think. Lord knows they need to think.

It takes two and a half minutes for them to reach their floor. Through a set of double doors and another and another until they reach the editors’ room. The door is closed but unlocked. Plaqued with a sign that reads _Editing/Editando._ Jade pushes it open and stands in the middle of the room, staring at the line of desks pushed against the wall. Atop each one sits three-monitor displays and stacks of hard drives and personal knick-knacks. And she’s going to get rid of all of it.

She crouches and crawls under the desk, her lighter clutched in her right hand. The inside of her cheek weeps between her back teeth, the skin screaming at her to untense. To take a breath and to _please_ go to sleep. It must be close to half after by now. Maybe even later. Beck’s cell phone flashlight casts eerie shadows over the cables and plugs and extension cords. Once close enough, she pulls her feet under herself and flicks the lighter on. The flame dances, its swaying gentle but persistent. She eases her push on the trigger and its snuffs. Leaves behind a small wisp of smoke that dissipates within a second. Seven seconds in. Five seconds out. The flame reappears; bursts from the small yellow cannister with a small _pop_. She stares at it, half mesmerised and half horrified. Was she about to do this? How on earth would she ever be able to do this.

“Is everything okay?” Beck asks, his voice a whispered shout, so full of something illegible that Jade doesn’t even have the heart to answer. She doesn’t know. But they’ve got this far. She is inches away from pulling this off.

She hesitates and drops the lighter. She drops her hand and gropes the carpeted floor for it without lowering her eyes. She’s locked them on the overloaded socket in front of her, staring it down as if it would move when she looked away. Finally, her fingers close around it. Third time’s the charm. Right?

“Yeah. Everything is fine. Everything is good.”

For the last time, the lighter sputters to life and the small heat pushes against her nose. She holds it under the plug and watches the plastic begin to melt, blacken, warp. It takes several minutes for the fire to catch. Once the plastic is alite, she gasps, small and borderline pained, and pulls her hand away. Scrambles backwards and out from under the desk.

Jade and Beck stand and watch the small fire grow. Smoke crawls along the underside of the desk and flees ceilingward after it escapes. It’s still small. But they should leave. Not until the desk and the computers – and therefore the episode – was well and truly gone.

The flames begin to lick the legs of the desk, softly embracing the wood and climbing upwards. Then the peeling yellowing wallpaper catches. And the matted carpet.

“Fuck,” Beck breathes. The word catches in his throat and dies somewhere between the back of his tongue and his teeth. He doesn’t swear, not much. Or ever, really. This is really, really bad.

Jade doesn’t know what to do. Why would she know what to do? She shouldn’t know what to do after setting fire to something. Because she shouldn’t be setting things on fire.

He moves before she does. Reacts before she’s even processed what she’s just done. He backs out of the room, his hand clutching the sleeve of her jacket, pulling her backwards with him. She stumbles, breaths stopping halfway up her throat. And out she goes from the room, the smoke already clouding her eyes and clinging to her skin and clothes and hair. Smoke alarms begin to whine.

Beck coughs as he starts down the long, monotonous corridor. Out through one, two, three sets of double doors and down four flights of stairs. Jade trails behind him, reeling slightly. Furious at herself. Anger that supersedes that of towards the Vega sisters. She’s coughing too when they reach the main entrance and burst through the doors. Smoke has been following them. As has the heat. The fire grows behind them, but Jade can’t bear to turn around and look at the damage.

The air outside is thin and cool. She gulps it down as though she’s been trapped underwater. Beck stands close to the glass doors, which are fogging up. Fog swirls down the stairs but the flames haven’t reached the lobby. Jade hopes that they never do. Even from here, the smoke alarms are ear-splitting.

“I think we should call 911,” he says. The words are painful to hear. Calling 911 means admitting they did it. It means possible recovery of the episode footage. Jade can’t allow that to happen. She shakes her head, opens her mouth to object but he holds up a hand and takes a few steps towards her. “We can call and say we live nearby and see smoke coming from the building, and we can leave.”

A sigh of relief. An unclench of her jaw. An unhunching of her shoulders. Okay. This could work. They could be fine.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. You call while I drive. I want to be as far away from here as possible before anyone else gets here.” Jade starts towards her car, only fifty feet away.

Beck nods and reaches into his pocket for his phone then freezes. His face slacks and is eyes are doused in panic. A visible swallow and he blinks hard. “Slight issue,” he says, his voice hard and hoarse and riddled fear. “I left my phone in the office.”

Jade feels the world stop spinning beneath her feet. The wind dies and the trees stop rustling. No. No. No. This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. She can’t allow this to happen.

“How did you leave your phone in there? Why would you leave your phone in there?”

“I didn’t mean to! I must have put it down when you were melting the socket and forgot to pick it up.” He paces, arms crossed over himself. He’s thinking – dangerous – but not vocalising anything. The longer he thinks, the worse the fire gets, and the more smoke plumes fly from the roof. Flames begins to creep downstairs. A window on the top floor, the floor where they’d set the fire, explodes. Finally, he says, “I think I need to go in and get it.”

He’s stupid. Completely and utterly. There is no way he can go in there and get his phone. The fire probably has already eaten the phone and spat up its carcass. It’s dead and gone and going inside is a death sentence.

She tells him as much. “I’m not letting you go in there.” Desperation drips from every syllable. He can’t go in there.

“I think I need to. If they find my phone, they’ll know it wasn’t an accident and both our lives are over.”

Ten years in jail for arson or forever without Beck? Jade would take the former any day of the week.

“The phone is gone, Beck. Let’s go.”

Beck doesn’t listen to her. She’s never known him to be stubborn. But this is the hill he wishes to die on. He buries his mouth and nose in the crook oh his elbow and pushes through the glass doors. Disappears into the smoke. Jade wants to go after him, to run after him and grab him and pull him out. Her mouth goes dry and her throat closes over and her feet stay firmly planted on the asphalt.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Five. Ten. Sirens hum in the distance and Jade gets into her car.


End file.
